


Not the End

by notjustalittlegirl



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Cousin Incest, How Do I Tag, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Suicidal Thoughts, kind of, mentioned - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 02:23:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7783141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustalittlegirl/pseuds/notjustalittlegirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"When he saw the figure below him, Maitimo was even more convinced that this was a part of a dream, some dream that was both wonderful and terrible at the same time." </p><p>Or, Fingon rescues Maedhros from the rock, and Maedhros isn't sure if he's dreaming. </p><p>Warning: Potentially triggering, read at your own risk</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not the End

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm sure that something similar to this has been done before, but I was reading The Silmarillion for the first time (I've read Children of Húrin several times but I've never really had the time to get through Silmarillion) and I really wanted to write this.  
> Ubeta'd, all mistakes are mine. I do not own The Silmarillion or its characters (obvi), nor am I making money from this.  
> 

The sole thing that  registered in Maitimo's mind was pain. He was in more pain than he'd had any idea it was possible to feel. Even as an elfling, when he'd gotten into fights with his brothers, or when he'd broken his leg, it hadn't hurt quite like this. He didn't know how long Melkor had kept him chained to the rock; it could have been days, or it could have been weeks or months or even a whole age. As much as he wished he did, he didn't know. 

He wished that he hadn't gone with his father. That he'd stayed in Valinor, or stayed with his uncle and cousins. He wished he were dead, that he could be somewhere-anywhere-except on this rock. 

A steady stream of hot tears was dripping off Maitimo's cheeks and falling down onto the precipice far below. Just as he had no idea of the length of his captivity, he wasn't exactly certain of when he'd begun to cry-it had been a few days ago at least-but he knew that he couldn't stop. The tears sped up. Maitimo knew that he would welcome death, if only there could be someone who could take pity on him. 

He knew, instinctively, that he must be dreaming, that pain and tears had begun to bend and twist and warp what was left of his mind; blend fantasy and reality together and play a cruel joke on him, when he heard a voice singing, calling to him. At this distance, with the sounds of the blood pounding in his ears and his shaking, coughing, sobs, he couldn't discern whose, despite the familiar sound.

Maitimo heard it again, and a small glimmer of hope made itself known in his chest. Maybe,  _maybe,_ there was someone below who could end his torment. Maitimo called out weakly in answer to the voice, and looked down as heard it grow closer. 

When he saw the figure below him, Maitimo was even more convinced that this was part of a dream, some dream that was both wonderful and terrible at the same time. 

Below him was the person that Maitimo had thought he would never see again, the person that he had prayed over and over again would come for him, would do him the final kindness of ending his torment. 

Maitimo didn't know how in Arda he hadn't recognized Findekáno's voice. There had been far more days in his life when he had heard it then when he hadn't. He had heard it for days on end as they ran together through the forests against the wishes of his father; as they playfully taunted each other when learning to wield a sword and to think and learn; on the most delightfully  _wrong_ night of his long life, his younger cousin's coming of age, moaning in his ear as they came apart in each others' arms.

"Finno!" He yelled, half moaning and half screaming. "I'm so sorry! I left, I left you, I'm sorry! Shoot me! Please, _please,_ shoot me! Kill me if you can possibly forgive me!"

Findekáno didn't reply, but Maitimo could see him, far below, nock an arrow and draw his bow, aiming up at him. He took one final, longing, glance at his cousin and closed his eyes, waiting for the merciful release of death. He waited. It didn't come.

Maitimo opened his eyes again, wondering what on Arda could be stopping his cousin from ending his life. What he saw when he gained the courage to look was not an army of Melkor's servants overwhelming his beloved Findekáno, as he had feared, but Findekáno soaring towards him on the back of a giant eagle.

It didn't quite register in Maitimo's blurry mind until much later that the eagle must have come from Manwë, that the King must have taken pity on the eldest son of Fëanor. In the moment, the only thing present in Maitimo's mind was the fact that his Finno hadn't killed him, that he still _hurt._

When Findekáno reached him, Maitimo hoped that his cousin had flown up on the back of the eagle to comfort him, wipe away his tears and whisper sweet nothings in his ear as he ended his misery gently.

"Please," he whispered again, the agony quickly becoming too much to bear now that relief was so _close_. "Please, Finno. End it."

Instead of the final kiss and the pathway to the Halls of Mandos that Maitimo had hoped would finally be delivered, he heard a single sentence, whispered into his ear.

"I won't let you die."

Suddenly, a new pain blended with the old, causing Maitimo to cry out as he dizzily registered that Findekáno had cut off his hand and that he was in his cousin's arms, being lowered as gently as possible onto the back of an eagle.

Maitimo used his one remaining hand to cling tightly to Findekáno, burying his face and matted hair into his cousin's shoulder and sobbing harder.

"Shh, cousin," Findekáno whispered. "It'll be alright. I've got you. I'm here. I'm not going to let you go. You just need to stay awake. Stay awake for me, Nelyo."

Maitimo, at this point, was nearly incapable of thought, so terrible was the agony of his time chained to the rock combined with that of the stump where his right hand used to be, still bleeding and staining the rest of his arm and Findekáno's clothing red. "'M I dreaming? 'Re you really h're?"

"Yes, love. I'm right here. I'm right here. You're not dreaming, you're safe now."

"Love you, F'no." Maitimo whispered before he faded out of consciousness in his cousin's arms, listening as closely as he possibly could to the sweet words falling from his lips. He almost believed that he was awake. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are lovely, if you care to leave them!


End file.
